A foul patina washed over my mind, like the decomposition fluid from a rotting corpse. Vampires. I concentrated. Six. Not in the buildings nearby, though—these were closer. Right above us, on the roof. I shouldn’t have been able to feel them so clearly with the magic down. My sensitivity must’ve increased. It made me feel like even more of an abomination. To fight my father, I had to practice my magic, and the more I practiced, the more like him I became. One hell of a slippery slope.

“Jim.”

Jim opened the driver’s door. The cold exhaled into my face, biting at my skin.

“Six vampires on the roof,” I told him quietly.

He looked up. “Either Bernard’s is in on it, or they don’t know they have extra guests.”

“Either way, by the time we get to the roof, they’ll be gone,” Barabas said.

And we would look like scared idiots. “Warn our people,” I murmured to Barabas. He nodded.

“If we’re separated . . .” Jim said.

“Mt. Paran Bridge. I remember.” That was where he’d stashed our backup.

Barabas tapped on my window. I rolled it down.

“Now remember, Kate.” Barabas leaned over to me, grinning. “You are the Consort. Be the Consort.” He stretched “be” into a three-syllable word. “Think like a—”

“Open the door or I’ll punch you right in the face,” I growled.

Barabas chuckled and opened my door. Ice crunched under my feet. Next to us the second Jeep disgorged five of my bodyguards, including the two renders, Myles Kingsbury and Sage Rome. I circled the Jeep and met Jennifer’s gaze. She stared at me for a long second and looked past me to my right. Her face jerked.

I glanced to the side. Another car had pulled up next to our two. The door swung open and Desandra jumped out. She wore a sheepskin jacket with a hood. Her hair, a long blond plait, spilled out over her shoulder. The cold turned her cheeks pink. Her eyes shone shapeshifter orange. She waved at me and headed my way.

Jennifer’s face went hard, as if chiseled from stone.

“My favorite alpha.” Desandra gave me a big brilliant smile.

My, my, what big teeth you have. “Desandra,” I said.

Jennifer looked hard and gaunt, like a half-starved wolf who had been driven into a corner and was now baring her teeth. Desandra was a picture of health, curvy, smiling, her eyes bright. Jennifer oozed anxiety; Desandra projected confidence. It was impossible not to compare the two. But I didn’t trust Desandra further than I could throw her either.

Jennifer needed to step down. I’d seen Desandra fight. I wouldn’t go up against her unless I absolutely had to. Jennifer was decent in a fight, but she was predictable and when her shit didn’t work, she lost her temper. Her anxiety clearly ate at her, gnawing her down to nothing.